To Accidentally Save the World
by Dumb Dreamer
Summary: AU- "Sometimes, magic has ideas of its own. But never for worse- You see, magic is like the mother. And all wizards and witches are her children." Hermione Andersson never knew her true parents. She did know Regulus, however. And Remus, Lilly, Severus and Willow, too. They were the family she would move mountains to protect. The family that would never betray her.


**To Accidentally Save the World**

**Chapter One: Guardians**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter series or any of its characters, places, spells, concepts, etc. The One and Only, wonderful J. K. Rowling does. All I own is the plot of this fan fic.**

**AN: This is an alternative universe. Moment of divergence from canon-verse:  
****Morgana created a ritual that made magic more sentient. In canon-verse, she deemed it awfully dangerous and destroyed it. Here, though, she went through with it. And that was the first thing. Then, the ritual worked and caused magic to interfere with a lot of things. Since Morgana was the one who made it, she got a standing equal to Merlin, raised the prestige of the Ravenclaw house and improved the situation of many woman and witches throughout the ages.**

* * *

The night of 19th, September, 1979

The hospital was half- empty. It didn't happen often, no. Perhaps the Grangers were just lucky. Perhaps the birth of their first daughter would go just a little bit more peacefully then they expected.

~~*star*~~star~~*star*~~

Nurses were rushing all around Mrs. Granger, tending to her. Her little daughter, Hermione, has been taken away to be washed and for a few tests to the opposite room, just a wall from where Mr. Granger still stood firmly by his wife's side. Hermione was the only child born in this hospital on that night, so only one doctor and one nurse were in that room with her. Suddenly, as if on cue, Mr. Granger fainted and Mrs. Granger screamed. Hearing the commotion, the nurse quickly hurried out of the room. The young doctor turned into the direction of the door, unsure. Then, there was a huge BANG accompanied by a flash of light. Mrs. Granger sprung out of bed and into the neighbouring room along with a couple of nurses, all of whom were trying to stop her. But she was too late as she only saw a shell- shocked doctor. Her precious little girl was nowhere in sight.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-i-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

~~*star*~~star~~*star*~~

The night of 19th, September, 1959

Cassandra Andersson had had a long day. It had dragged on forever like overcooked, extra-long noodles. And then, even after the sun had set, its reminder continued to drag on in the form of a huge amount of paperwork. She'd only finished it very recently and she felt utterly exhausted. She'd most likely go straight to bed, but she was thirsty, which forced her to walk all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen to get herself a glass of water, careful not to wake any kid up.

So now, here she was, at around 3 AM, sipping her water slowly as she looked out of the window and into the garden. Running an orphanage was definitely not a cakewalk, alright. She wanted the best for all of the children left in her care; she wanted them to have a childhood. She wished that the garden had been nicer; the sad truth though was that she couldn't afford any changes. Honestly, she could barely afford anything at all.

She studied the garden intently, taking in every single detail. Not a single thing could be lost to her sharp eyes. Even if something felt like hiding from her stern gaze, the bright light of the street lamps exposed it mercilessly.

The plain grass, how she wished it would be cobwebbed with flowerbeds. The sole sandbox, how she wished it would be accompanied by some slides, swings, see-saws and perhaps even a merry-go-round, monkey bars she could give up. She was never overtly fond of them in her own youth anyway. The lonely tree. How she wished there would be more of them. Creating a soft, green oasis for her children to play in away from the overcrowded, polluted greyness of the smallish district of London where her orphanage was unfortunately located.

For it wasn't the bright and colourful with ad posters and orange and blue-green stones in the pavements centre of London, full of interesting sights, fascinating stories, places just waiting to be discovered and further explored, cafe's, merry tourists, various tourist attractions, and colourful shops for rich, happy and colourful people. No, this, this was just London. As much as it stung to say so about her beloved hometown. No, this was London in all its greyish, cloudy, rainy, old, dusty glory.

Ah-ah, but enough of this. Whatever.

Cassandra's eyes moved onto the fence. It was plain. Plainly one of the things she hated the most about the whole orphanage. Grey, it used to be white back in the day, but obviously wasn't anymore and showed no sign of returning to this previous, long gone by arrangement anytime soon. The fence was quite high and almost seemed menacing. No, Cassandra didn't like it one bit. In fact, she'd like nothing more than to replace it. Or at least re-paint it. Blue, for example.

She remembered walking past a nice, bright kindergarten some time ago. The fence was wooden, multicoloured, with sharper ends and painted to strongly resemble children's coloured pencils. Not only did it look pretty, but it was also a very cute idea, and one that she immediately wanted to adopt to her orphanage's exterior. But sadly, she had no money to afford such fanciness, so the fence would remain as it was for the foreseeable future.

Cassandra was just busy glaring daggers at it when she got interrupted by a flash of strange, reddish light and a loud BANG. She quickly looked for the source of the disturbance, scanning the garden even more intently than she had done previously. She saw nothing.

In long, quick, purposeful strides she covered the distance from where she's been standing for the last couple of minutes to the orphanage's doors. Since, luckily, the kitchen's doors opened straight into the small hall which ended in the house's front doors, said distance was very short and getting to her destination couldn't have taken her any longer than about fifteen seconds. Without any further hesitation, Cassandra swung the door open.

On the step, a little newborn was lying. It couldn't have been any older than a day, which bothered the considerably much older woman immensely. The tiny girl was absolutely naked, and crying, most likely in cold and shock. Cassandra looked up, but no one was there. No hint as to where could this helpless little being have appeared from. So, not taking her time any longer, Cassandra picked the newborn up into her arms, shushing it and cooing all the way upstairs.

The little girl slept together with Cassandra in her bed on that night.

~~*star*~~star~~*star*~~

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-i-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The morning to afternoon of 19th, September, 1979

Mrs. Granger was crying all the way home. Mr. Granger, the calm man and excellent driver that he was, had his arms shaking against the steering wheel. But you couldn't really blame him, now could you? Instead, you should've been amazed at how steadily he managed to drive with such unsteady hands, and how come he only had shaking hands to show for his terrible distress.

You see, Mr. Granger has always been a man of duty. So, later that day, he would have a mental breakdown, he would scream, shout and throw things, letting them shatter against the tastefully cream-coloured walls. He would get drunk on his strongest brandy and stay up past midnight either crying or brokenly whispering in desperate, half-hearted denial. But that would be later, and as of now he had to be strong for his wife. So he bottled everything in, allowing his shaky hands to be the only indicator of his true mental state.

And Mrs. Granger was so much worse off than him, too.

'But we'll go back, darling, we'll go back tomorrow? We have to go back!'

'Yes, yes, sure we'll go back,' assured Mr. Granger.

Mrs. Granger slumped back into her seat, silent tears streaming down her face. She felt helpless and absolutely beaten down. She'd actively taken part in the frantic search for little Hermione until the doctor regained his senses enough to send her back to bed and take over the search himself, accompanied only by Mr. Granger and two nurses. But two hours of their fruitless search and Mrs. Granger's constant fretting later, they were all forced to give up. The doctor convinced them to go back home and rest, and he'll inform all the doctors, nurses and other employees to be on a lookout for little Hermione. If she was found, the hospital was to contact the Grangers immediately.

And he was right to send them home, of course. Exhaustion from giving birth, hormones and nerves was quite an ugly combination. Mrs. Granger needed some calm, quiet and lots of rest. But surely she wouldn't be getting any of that, what with her child being lost.

No, not lost, not really, Mrs. Granger realised with absolute certainty. Her daughter has been kidnapped and she's been used as a distraction. Because she was now a hundred percent sure that the sudden, uncontrollable fright which caused her to scream just seconds before the mysterious noise and light that marked the disappearance of her daughter wasn't a newfound motherly sixth sense warning her of harm soon to come her baby's way. No, the terrible fear was naught but a distraction. And it must've been a supernatural force that tore her child away from her. But where to? And why? Oh dear God, why?

~~*star*~~star~~*star*~~

Mr. Granger put two mugs of slightly steaming black tea on the kitchen table before plopping heavily down onto his chair. In silence, he watched his wife fiddling with the tea mug. It has been a long, longday.

'I think I'd like to go and visit my mother. I could stay with her for the night, if you don't mind,' whispered Mrs. Granger, not quite meeting her husband's eye. Mr. Granger nodded dumbly. After a moment, realising that Mrs. Granger surely didn't see it, staring intently at the mug as she still was, he said out loud:

'Yeah. Yeah, I don't mind.'

Now it was Mrs. Granger's turn to nod. Taking a sip of her tea, she stood up slowly.

'You're going already? Should I drive you?' Mr. Granger asked her.

'No, thank you. You know it's only fifteen minutes walk from here. I think the fresh air will do me good,' came Mrs. Granger's hurried response.

Mr. Granger knew he _s_hould have protested. He should have reminded her that she wasn't supposed to be straining herself so soon. That she should rest. But he knew she needed space just as much as he did, and admittedly, the rejection stung a little. And so he let her go.

Mrs. Granger shut the door softly, leaving behind two mugs of unfinished tea and her husband cradling his head in his hands.

~~*star*~~star~~*star*~~

The afternoon of 20th, September, 1979

And they were driving again. In absolute silence, Mr. Granger pulled up in the hospital parking lot. He hastily jumped out of the car and opened the car door for his wife. They walked quickly up to the hospital. They were aware that their hurry won't change any facts, and their daughter most likely wasn't found yet, seeing as that the hospital failed to contact them with any news, but some desperate hope pushed them forward, begging for confirmation, one way or another.

~~*star*~~star~~*star*~~

The receptionist looked... confused. Dazed, you could almost say. But Mrs. and Mr. Granger didn't spare her a second glance as they rushed right past her and into the maternity ward. They found one of the nurses who helped take over the search in the morning, right before the doctor sent them home, and who was also on duty that day. They flagged her down to ask her about little Hermione. She frowned at them, seemingly confused and said there was never a child born in the hospital that would be called Hermione for as long as she's worked there. The same thing repeated over and over again. None of the other nurses, even the doctor, no one's ever heard of a lost girl named Hermione.

~~*star*~~star~~*star*~~

After some time of this, the Grangers grew pretty frustrated.

'If this is some sort of a sick joke,' thundered Mrs. Granger as she stormed through the corridor, 'then I swear I'm going to-'

'Now, now, dear,' interrupted Mr. Granger.

'Don't you now, now me! There's no way they could forget all about Hermione as soon as that!'

Mr. Granger didn't know how to respond to that so he kept his mouth shut. For a moment, they walked together in uncomfortable silence.

'I know what we need to do!' Exclaimed Mr. Granger.

'Go on,' urged him Mrs. Granger impatiently.

'We have to go to the head of the maternity ward and request he check the documents under our name. It doesn't guarantee we get Hermione back immediately, but at least they won't be able to ignore as any longer,' explained Mr. Granger.

'That's a great idea, dear!' Mrs. Granger seemed to perk up a little at that.

It didn't take them long to find the chairman's office. Mr. Granger knocked.

'Come in,' called the head of the department. Miraculously, he didn't seem to be occupied. Too tired, angry and stressed to thank God for the very convenient coincidence, the Grangers entered.

'Now, what can I help you with?' Asked the maternity ward chairman, doctor Jules Juke.

'We wish to view the documents regarding to my wife's pregnancy. We have first attended a health check regarding the pregnancy on the 16th of February, 1979, estimately two months after conceiving. My wife gave birth to our in the early morning of September, 19th, but our daughter has been lost. We are the Grangers,' Mr. Granger related briskly.

Mr. Juke looked positively bewildered, but he seemed willing to comply. He went to the opposite room to retrieve the correct file. To his amazement, there really were some Grangers, and even the date of the first appointment matched. He brought the file back to his office and dropped it onto his desk. Then he proceeded to thumb through the file.

'Everything seems to be in order,' he assured the Grangers, both of whom were fidgeting with anticipation in their respective seats. But then, Mr. Juke's eyebrows moved first upwards into his forehead, before drawing closely together. He looked up from the file, looking grave.

'I'm sorry madam, but according to this file, you have miscarried,' he stated bluntly. Seeing the shock on both of their faces, he quickly realized exactly how insensitive he was.

'It boggles me too, admittedly. Everything seemed to be going perfectly, when out of the blue... It was pretty late on; too... miscarriages don't happen often at this stage of pregnancy. The gender of the child was already known, you must have had a name and everything...' Mr. Juke was met with a blank, uncomprehending stare from both of the Grangers.

He was starting to get very uncomfortable himself.

'The 19th of September was supposed to be the due date... Such a shock... I reckon it must have been hard for you to... cope with such a... revelation. I am very sorry-'

'No!' Mrs. Granger was nearly hysterical as she cut across him. 'No, no, no! There's no way I could've miscarried, I remember it all so well, going into labour and the pain and little Hermione, too! I refuse- I refuse to believe this all never happened!'

'Love,' started Mr. Granger. But he was stricken and he didn't really know what he wanted to say. He couldn't even begin to imagine what his wife must've been feeling. To carry their little daughter under her heart for nine months, and go through so much pain to give birth to her, just to be told this wasn't real? Well, most of it, at least. The doctor failed to specify when she had supposedly miscarried. Mrs. Granger was sobbing on Mr. Granger's shoulder. After a long while of this (and it was a long while of Doctor Juke getting steadily more awkward, too) Mrs. Granger seemed to calm down a little.

'Let's go home,' whispered Mr. Granger. She just nodded, her eyes empty.

~~*star*~~star~~*star*~~

Mr. Granger was sprawled on the sofa, still in deep shock. Mrs. Granger was sitting by his side in an armchair, rigid straight and stiff as a board.

The ride home was a blur. After the storm of emotions, after all the crying, Mrs. Granger could hardly feel a thing. Just empty. Or hopeless. Or both. And suspended, trapped. Like nothing was ever going to change. Like time somehow broke down and refused to let the moment pass. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think; it all came down to the deep hole that once was her heart.

A heart that loved her child from the moment she first learned of her pregnancy. A heart that her little daughter used to listen to all the time, safe and secure in her womb for the last nine months. The heart that gave a joyous jolt of utter adoration the moment she first saw her little Hermione, screaming, crying, red, wet, covered in blood and ever so wonderful, the most beautiful sight she's ever seen and-

The moment passed.

Mrs. Granger was confused. There was no way, say, no way, that this wasn't real. There was no way she has never seen Hermione. And there was no way, no way would her husband have had exactly the same delusion as her. No way would her mother have, too. And her excitement to be a grandma when she called her, saying she went into labour must have been genuine, Mrs. Granger was sure.

And her friends, visiting her, helping her pick out baby things and clothes? This couldn't have been an act. And she couldn't have imagined it too, not in so much detail, not with such unwavering certainty, not so realistically. The documents must have been fake.

But... what about the hospital staff? They were so genuinely confused, like they have never heard of Hermione. And who would want to fake the documents, anyway? Yet, she wasn't doubting her theory. Hermione was the most certain thing in her entire life.

Mrs. Granger heard a knock on the door. She got up, stretched and walked up to open it. She saw the strangest man standing on the door step.

He was tall and looked ragged. He was dressed in what appeared to be... robes? With a pointed hat and a badge she didn't recognize pinned to his, well, robes, for lack of a better term. He was holding a pointed, fancily crafted stick in a way that she found quite threatening.

She gasped in fright and surprise and heard her husband getting up from the couch, hopefully to come to her aid. The stranger gave her a reassuring sort of a look. She really didn't like it for some reason.

'Now lass, there's no need to be scared. It won't hurt.'

She felt Mr. Granger's protective hand on her shoulder.

'I'm sorry, but what exactly won't hurt?' Mr. Granger's voice was calm, but threatening none the less.

The weird stranger didn't seem to hear him, though.

'I'm really sorry about what I'm about to do, but it's necessary.'

'Now what do you think you-,' Mrs. Granger's voice was shrill with indignation.

'Again, I promise this won't hurt.'

The man's fancy stick was now pointed straight at their heads. Before either of them managed to object any further, the man opened his mouth to say one last word.

'Obliviate'

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_i-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

~~*star*~~star~~*star*~~

The evening of 19th, September, 1963

Four years have passed since the little girl's strange arrival at the orphanage's doorstep and Cassandra still wasn't really sure what to make out of the incident.

She named the girl Hermione- though perhaps the term 'named' was a little far-fetched. It didn't feel like naming at all- more like Hermione was already called that, and Cassandra was only just acknowledging the fact. Yet she wasn't given a surname or the date and place of birth in the same way.

So, she decided to just go with 19th, September, 1959 and London for birth place, giving Hermione her own surname as she always did with all the unknown children. Being a Hermione Andersson was much better than being a Hermione Nobody-Knows-What after all.

Cassandra had thought back to that night many a times during this past four years. Now, she tried her hardest not to, she really did, and who could blame her? Yet, she couldn't keep herself from thinking, and here again, who could blame her?

Each time she thought about it, she became more and more assured in her theory: Hermione arrived here by magic. This would explain everything; why wasn't there anyone who could've dropped her off, and since Cassandra was looking very closely (or, more like, glaring very closely) at the fence, took no longer then 15 seconds to cross from the window to the door and looked out into the yard, there was no way someone could arrive unnoticed by her, she'd at the very least see them retreating, there was no way that someone could cross the, poor though poor, but not so small, garden this quickly.

Also, for the matter, the gate had been locked, she specifically checked it on the following day, and the high, pointed fence wasn't all that easy to climb, especially if you had your arms otherwise occupied with holding a kicking and screaming newborn kid.

It would also explain the weird noise and light, and even the feeling that Hermione had been named Hermione already, most likely by her birth parents. But, of course, Cassandra couldn't tell Hermione and the other kids that.

Her story was that she was just pouring herself a glass of water in the kitchen, with her back to the window, the curtains of which had been closed, when she heard a bang. She then set the glass down on the counter, hurried to the window and pulled the curtains open just in time to catch sight of someone retreating, leaving behind the toppled over trash bin. Apparently, the bang was caused by the metal bin falling over.

She proceeded to walk out of the house, annoyed, intending on righting the trash bin. All of it got forgotten though as she spotted the newborn lying on the doorstep and only then did she realise, the stranger wasn't there by accident, but came to leave yet another child in her care and was simply too cowardly to face her and tell anything about the girl himself.

Cassandra didn't really like lying to Hermione about something so important, but it was necessary. Yes, she wouldn't trouble her little girl with information like this. It had to be the right thing to do; at least that's what she told herself.

~~*star*~~star~~*star*~~

The evening of 1st, September, 1966

It would soon be seven years.

If Cassandra Anderson was to be honest with herself, she's grown pretty attached to Hermione. But don't get me wrong, she was a very fair person and never treated Hermione any better than she did her other kids. Well, at least not until around a year ago, but that was another thing entirely.

She only did because one of her eldest's started picking on Hermione about her love for books. She took Hermione's side, of course, punished the offending boy and did her best to comfort the little magic-sent princess. Then, she might've told Hermione that she could come talk to her if the situation ever repeated, or even if she just felt like talking.

Cassandra also gave Hermione nearly full access to her personal library, both because she was quite upset with the fact that no other of her kids shared her love of books, and to show everyone she fully supported thirst of knowledge.

Frankly, the older lad didn't see Cassandra's reasons, and immediately jumped to the conclusion she's playing favourites. It hurt her, it really did.

And Hermione must have realized that, because she's never came to her to complain about that kid. But Cassandra anyway knew that he didn't stop picking on Hermione. It made Cassandra feel more helpless, let down and resigned with her job then she's ever been before.

~~*star*~~star~~*star*~~

The evening of 19th, September, 1970

Cassandra had a bit of a bad feeling about this day.

It was Hermione's eleventh birthday already. Cassandra honestly couldn't believe how fast the years have gone by. But eleven was a magical number and Cassandra had an unexplainable feeling that the magic that brought Hermione to her orphanage's doorstep was set to show its hand once more on the exact eleventh anniversary of its previous achievement.

And the feeling only intensified as the day progressed. By evening, it had Cassandra on the edge of her seat with restlessness, successfully keeping her from making any more serious attempt at tackling the mountain of papers currently sitting at her desk.

She sighed deeply. The feeling was silly, honestly. And it most certainly wasn't a plausible reason to worry. That was right. Cassandra simply needed to shut down her annoying, currently overactive intuition, get her shit together and she would be fi-

-That was the moment the doorbell chose to ring-

-ne. Cassandra sighed and trudged warily downstairs to open the thrice damned door. Only to catch sight of a stern-looking, thin lipped, middle-aged women dressed like the epitome of witchcraft and holding what appeared to be a wand in her hand.

All Cassandra could think in the moment consisted of highly repentant 'HOLY FUCK'.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-i-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Minerva McGonagall always got the hardest assignments. Ah, the perks of being a Deputy Headmistress, right? Today she was to deliver the Hogwarts acceptance latter to an orphanage kid.

Minerva despised orphanages. She knew they were necessary, of course, but she just couldn't stand the thought of all this poor kids, deprived of being raised with loving families, deprived of the attention they needed, because how can you pay attention to so many kids all at once?

Minerva had apparated with a crack in a blind alley and proceeded to march up the narrow streets up to the orphanage. She couldn't help but think the neighbourhood mercilessly bland and grey. The orphanage was the biggest building in the area, so it wasn't too hard to find. Minerva had looked up at it in disapproval. A quick inspection had revealed a tall, grey fence, one tree and one sandpit. Minerva had passed the open gate and rung the doorbell, still frowning.

The doors had opened. And the women opening them had nearly passed out.

Minerva took the opportunity to examine the other women. She was average height, slim, and looked to be in her early forties. Her hair was mahogany brown and prematurely lined with silver. She had warm, intelligent eyes. Her slight wrinkles hinted at kind, caring smiles and constant concern. They gave her a permanent good-natured look. All in all, she was beautiful, something Minerva really didn't expect.

'I'm sorry, but how can I help you? My name's Cassandra Andersson and I'm the head of this orphanage,' said Cassandra, finally picking herself up. Minerva noted she didn't sound self-important. In fact, her voice was soft, calm and welcoming. It suited her.

'I'm Minerva McGonagall and I am the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm here to discuss the granting of a scholarship to one of the children left in your care,' Minerva said more kindly then she would normally have. Cassandra just nodded, looking somewhat resigned.

'It's Hermione, isn't it?' She asked simply, stepping aside to allow Minerva entrance.

This was definitely not the reaction Minerva expected. Nor was it a one she usually received.

'Yes. It's about Hermione,' she admitted.

'I'll call her down, then. Would you like some tea?' Asked Cassandra politely, closing the door after Minerva.

'Yes, please,' Minerva replied weakly.

'Come down here, Hermione, dear! Someone wants to see you,' Cassandra called, leaning over the stair railings. Then, she proceeded into the kitchen, where she swiftly busied herself with making tea.

'Were there any other Hogwarts students in this orphanage?' Asked Minerva cautiously. Perhaps she had missed something? It couldn't be this woman was taking it all so well. She damn well near fainted at the mere sight of Minerva, and now she wasn't the slightest bit surprised at learning she had a witch in her care for years?

'Perhaps,' said Cassandra, seemingly contemplative, 'I'm sure it's never happened in the thirty years that I've worked here though. I would've noticed. Anyway, I've always known my Hermione was special, magical, even,' she finished fondly.

If Minerva wasn't such a dignified lady, her jaw would've likely hit the floor. She really couldn't believe this Muggle woman. And thirty years? She must've misjudged her age by at least ten years!

At that precise moment Hermione came down the stairs, looking excited.

'Good evening,' she said shyly, looking up at Professor McGonagall with visible curiosity.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-i-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

~~*star*~~star~~*star*~~

The early morning of 23rd, May, 1981

As Mrs. Granger held her newborn son, a strangest sort of fear enveloped her. Like he was going to disappear the moment she let go of him. A strong sense of déjà vu has been plaguing her ever since she went to labour. Like she has already done it before. It was ridiculous, she knew. She has miscarried, after all. When she looked back at the time, she found that her memories seemed unreal to her somehow, as if it was all a lie, a staged event or something stolen out of someone else's mind. It must have been due to the shock and grief. But everybody was so supportive of her through these hard times and she came back to herself somewhere mid- September. She recalled that even her boss gave her leave off work to come to terms with the tragedy. She was very grateful for that. But now that she had her son, she needed to finally, truly move on and leave little Hermione in the past.

* * *

AN 2: This is my first fan fic. I am still trying to figure out which style of writing suites me best. This story is also posted on Wattpad, where the chapters are far shorter, but the updates come way more often. If you'd prefer it that way, you're most welcome to go to my Wattpad page. The pen name, story title, story summary and story picture are the same as they are here. Also, I wanted to say that the star thingy symbolizes a time skip, while the -_-_-_- pattern means a POV change.

~Today's fun fact is: A jiffy is actually a 1/100th of a second. So no, you won't be back in a jiffy.~

Thank you for reading, please review and take care you guys!


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